


Somebody's Watching Me

by dance_dance_miserable



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: America's Suitehearts (Music Video), Happy Halloween!, M/M, Sandman's a creep, Voyeurism, a sort of Benzedrine origin story of sorts?, in a way i suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 14:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21254945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_dance_miserable/pseuds/dance_dance_miserable
Summary: “Thinking?”Hisgrip tightened on Patrick’s shoulder, causing him to wince. “You know how I feel about thinking.”Patrick did know howHefelt about thinking: thinking was a privilege reserved for those in charge, something Patrick was certainly not. Truthfully, he wasn’t much more than a toy, a plaything to keepHimentertained, and toys most definitely didn’t think.





	Somebody's Watching Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my entry for this year's Trick or Pete. It's much shorter and less complex than my original idea because I may have run out of time (whoops), but I hope this still gives you the creeps!
> 
> Title taken from Rockwell's "Somebody's Watching Me", a Halloween classic.
> 
> Not beta'd, we die like men.

Patrick loved his apartment. The rooms were spacious and elegantly furnished, his every want and need perfectly tended to. The kitchen was fully stocked and his closet was fit to burst with diverse and intriguing outfit options. 

If anyone had asked Patrick to describe his lifestyle, he might’ve compared it to living in a dollhouse: peaceful and easy with no need to burden himself with silly things like thoughts. The delicate pastels and sunshiney shades of yellow that decorated Patrick’s space brought great joy into his everyday routine, the likes of which he could never remember experiencing before.

Although, Patrick couldn’t remember much before moving into the apartment. He must’ve had a childhood‒ he’d been born, after all‒ but for the life of him, he couldn’t recall anything about it: not his mother, his father, any siblings or pets. He didn’t know his birthday, his last name, or even his own age.

But age didn’t matter, Patrick mused as he stared at himself in his vanity mirror and ran a brush through his hair in an almost hypnotizing rhythm. Age was just a number, wasn’t it? Besides, he didn’t look a day over twenty-three, with bright eyes, full lips, and perfect porcelain skin. He spent ages preening himself every morning, and it certainly paid off, even though nobody was around to admire his hard work.

It had been a long while since Patrick had seen another human. He could scarcely remember the last time he’d laid eyes on anyone aside from… _Him_.

_He_ was a mysterious figure that visited Patrick’s apartment from time to time, always appearing in the same spot on the sofa and never seeming to use the door. When Patrick first moved in, _He_ came once a month; now, it was once a week. Patrick wasn’t completely positive why the visits had become more frequent, but he certainly didn’t mind. _He_ was tall, dark, and handsome in all the best ways, with hot whiskey eyes and a charming smile that was almost too wide for _His_ face. Shadows seemed to dance in _His_ presence. Patrick’s mind always grew cloudy when _He_ was around, like he was trapped inside a hazy sort of dreamland. It made Patrick’s chest feel soft and staticky inside and his thoughts drift away. He tended to forget more whenever _He_ came to visit, but _He_ usually helped Patrick fill in the gaps. Patrick was lucky to have such a gentleman keep him company.

Even when _He_ was away‒ on business or travel or whatever _He_ did‒ it was almost as though Patrick could feel _His_ eyes burning into him. Every second of every day was a performance for _Him_, each little activity carefully choreographed to be as pretty as possible: undressing was a strip show, his closet was a runway, even meals were kept small and delicate as a tea party. 

This fact alone spurred Patrick to fixate on his reflection every morning, primping away any trace of bedhead and concealing his exhaustion under a thick layer of makeup. But today was different.

Today, Patrick had put on his favorite yellow suit. Today, Patrick was painting up his lips into a tiny red heart. 

Today, _He_ was coming to visit.

Patrick could hardly contain his excitement, but still did his best to remain delicate and demure. That was how _He_ liked him: quiet, agreeable, never too many questions, never too emotional. It was difficult at times, yes, but Patrick wanted desperately to please _Him_, and so was willing to make the effort.

As he paused to straighten his tie and make sure his lips were properly puckered, Patrick knew that _He_ would be waiting for him in the living room, on the sofa, in the same spot _He_ always was.

“Good morning, my dear.” _His_ voice echoed throughout the apartment, in Patrick’s ears, and around Patrick’s skull, turning his mind to mush.

“Hello, sir,” Patrick replied meekly, stepping into the room and glancing over at _Him_. 

_He_ was just as gorgeous as always, dark clothes with gold accents complimenting _His_ caramel skin perfectly. _His_ cape was draped elegantly over the sofa behind _Him_, and _He_ patted the cushion beside _Him_. “Sit.”

Patrick did. Their thighs touched and Patrick shuddered when _He_ slung an arm over his shoulder. 

“Have you been doing alright, my love?” _He_ stroked a gloved hand over the nape of Patrick’s neck. “Last night’s shower concert seemed… insincere.”

“O-oh, yes, sir. Of course,” Patrick assured _Him_ with a smile and a flutter of his eyelashes. “I always enjoy singing for you! It… it’s just that‒”

“That what?”

“It’s silly, really.”

“Nothing you say is silly, my dear. Spit it out.”

Patrick swallowed around the lump forming in his throat. He really hated asking questions, he knew it upset _Him_, but…

“You see, sir, I was thinking‒”

“Thinking?” _His_ grip tightened on Patrick’s shoulder, causing him to wince. “You know how I feel about thinking.”

Patrick did know how _He_ felt about thinking: thinking was a privilege reserved for those in charge, something Patrick was certainly not. Truthfully, he wasn’t much more than a toy, a plaything to keep _Him_ entertained, and toys most definitely didn’t think.

“I-I didn’t mean to, sir, I just… just have one little question.”

_His_ eyes blazed, a spark of anger flickering behind them before it was quickly snuffed and replaced with an empty smile. “Only one?” _He_ mused. “I suppose I could allow that, just this once. But don’t get used to it.”

Patrick exhaled a deep sigh of relief. “Of course, sir. I-I wouldn’t dream of bothering you with something like this more often than I have to,” he replied, twirling a loose lock of hair around his finger. “It’s just... this has been keeping me awake for weeks now.”

“I did notice you stirring quite a bit. What could possibly be bothering you so, dearest?”

Patrick paused to steady his nerves and gather his thoughts, squeezing his eyes shut as he spoke to keep _His_ reaction hidden from view. “...what’s my name again?”

_He_ chuckled, planting a sloppy kiss on Patrick’s cheek. “Now, now. You had me worried over nothing. That’s quite an easy question to answer, my dear Benzedrine.”


End file.
